


underneath the undertow

by starrywrite



Category: On My Block (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post-Season/Series 01, Pre-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 12:31:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19853233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrywrite/pseuds/starrywrite
Summary: She usually kept nights like this to herself. No one knew that she stole one of Olivia’s shirts while most of the Martinez’s were at the hospital with Ruby. No one knew that Olivia’s scent still clings to the fabric even though Monse’s hugged it to her chest more often than not and soaked it with her tears.





	underneath the undertow

**Author's Note:**

> because we didn’t get enough of monse mourning “the first and only girlfriend [she’s] ever had” and i’m highkey bitter about it lmao 
> 
> also bitter about the fact that they should have casted by ANYONE else to play olivia because monse and olivia’s dynamic is so beautiful and important i could write a college level dissertation on it tbh
> 
> anyway
> 
> title comes from “head above water” by avril lavigne
> 
> this takes place post s1 but before s2 starts 
> 
> i hope u enjoy <3

Missing Olivia comes in waves. Like how the ocean is rarely, if ever, calm and still; there’s always the ebb and flow of water. Monse always misses her. But some days it’s easier to wade in the waters. She gets used to the cold feeling left behind in Olivia’s absence and on days like this, it doesn’t ache as much. Other days, she’s submerged in an overwhelming and crushing feeling of not wanting but needing Olivia that she fears she’ll never break the surface again. She fears she’ll never breathe easy again. 

Tonight is one of those days. Tonight, Monse is drowning. 

She usually kept nights like this to herself. No one knew that she stole one of Olivia’s shirts while most of the Martinez’s were at the hospital with Ruby. No one knew that Olivia’s scent still clings to the fabric even though Monse’s hugged it to her chest more often than not and soaked it with her tears. And no one knew because that’s how she wanted it; there were more important things for everyone to worry about -- Ruby’s health, Cesar’s safety, even why as of lately, Jamal had become a jittery, paranoid mess (more than usual, that is). She figured that she was on the bottom of the totem pole of Shit To Stress About and that was fine with her. Her grief didn’t need any attention. 

When Cesar began staying at Monse’s house on a regular basis, it gave her a reason to try to keep it together -- for Cesar’s sake. There wasn’t a night that he didn’t wake up screaming or shaking from nightmares and Monse had to hold him until he felt safe enough to fall back asleep. Having Cesar around gave her something else to focus on; he was the perfect distraction.

Until he wasn’t. 

Tonight he wasn’t. 

In hindsight, she feels pretty pathetic; Cesar left her alone for all of five minutes to pick up something for them to eat since the two of them had been living off of Depression Dinners consisting of bags of chips, peanut butter from the jar, and beer. But only moments after he was gone did she realize just how quiet her house is when she was alone in it. In the silence, she realized just how foreign it had become to her; she almost always had someone over, especially when her dad was away, and Olivia was always her first option for company. She longed for the days when Olivia’s laughter would bounce off of the walls, when her smile would illuminate any room she was in, when her voice would soothe her in ways that even her favorite songs couldn’t. But it wasn’t the memories that broke her. It was when she reached for her phone with the intention of texting Olivia and asking her to come over that she felt a sharp pain in her chest that stole her breath away. She had gone as far as opening her latest text thread between her and Olivia before realizing. Remembering. 

And that was all it took to pull her under, for her to start drowning. 

She can’t stop the tears before Cesar comes back. He walks into her room to see her curled up in a ball, clutching Olivia’s shirt in her hands, and sobbing as hard as she did that night at the hospital. Immediately he’s at her side, helping her up so he can pull her into a tight embrace that she can’t return because she’s too busy holding Olivia’s shirt. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Cesar whispers to her. She doesn’t say anything but he murmurs, “I know,” to her. He does but he doesn't He knows that she’s upset because of Olivia but he’ll never understand the hole in her heart shaped like her best friend that nothing and no one will ever fill. He’ll never understand that now she has to learn to go on with this piece missing from her. Yes, he loved her too and yes, he lost her too, but loving and losing the same person doesn’t make their pain the same. 

“She told me she loved me,” Monse tells him when she finally stops crying enough to be coherent, but just saying the words makes the dam burst for a second time. Tears roll down her cheeks and she chokes out, “The night of her quince. She told me she loved me, but I didn’t say it back.” Cesar can’t look at her because he’s never seen someone look so broken before, so wounded. There’s a physical pain in his chest, a tightness that makes breathing hurt, when he sees the look on her face and he brings his attention to her hands, taking them in his own and holding them tightly. Monse sobs and whispers, “Why didn’t I say it back?” 

“You didn’t have to,” Cesar’s voice is so soft he can barely hear himself. Clearing his throat, he speaks up and repeats. “You didn’t have to say it. She knew.”

But Monse just shakes her head. “That doesn’t matter. Because even if she did know, she still deserved to hear it from me.” 

He doesn’t know what to say to that and she doesn’t expect him to; there’s nothing anyone can say that’ll bring Olivia back or give her a time machine so she gets a second chance to do it right. After a moment, however, Cesar takes her by surprise and he tells her, “So let her hear it.” Monse looks at him, confused, and he continues, “She’s still with us. Even if she isn’t here anymore, she’s always with us. I _know_ she is. And I know she’s always listening.” 

“I talk to her sometimes,” Cesar continues, thumbing away her tears. “Out loud, I mean. It sounds crazy, I know, but I know she can hear me, that she’s listening to what I have to say. So I make sure to say it so she can hear it. It doesn’t fix everything but it helps sometimes.”

Monse exhales shakily, bracing herself for what she knows Cesar’s going to say next. “You should tell her.” 

Cesar leaves to give her a moment of privacy and Monse, admittedly, feels a little foolish at first. Talking to someone who can’t answer her, to someone who isn’t there; she doesn’t see how it can help do anything other than remind her that she’ll never have another normal conversation with Olivia again, but she’s desperate enough to try anything. 

It’s harder than she thought it would be. It takes a moment, her voice catching every time she opens her mouth to say something -- anything. There’s so much she wants to say, so much she wants her to know. But she settles for saying the first thing she can think of. 

“Oliva.” Saying her name out loud for the first time since the night she died makes her ache in a way she never has before. But she whispers to the silence of her room, “Olivia. I love you. I will always love you.” And though her voice breaks, she says, “Thank you for loving me.” 

She isn’t expecting a response, but saying the words out loud make her feel… different. Lighter. Like there’s a physical weight off of her chest and before she knows it, her head breaks the surface and she takes a breath. It still hurts to breathe but at least she’s still breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr @ ‘creativityprince’ !!!


End file.
